Disclaimer: Alice and most of her background belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No money is being made from this work and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I decided to change some things in this chapter, including the tense, but it does not affect the rest of the story.

Memories

Bright, transparent reds and greens dance along the darkened white walls turning into shapes that may or may not be there. That is what I focus on now—making shapes out of the invisible colors that my eyes see in the darkened white. I wonder vaguely what they are, scientifically, but give up on that thought quickly. I don't think about very much anymore. I mostly end up in a semi-conscious state and wake up with a quickly draining memory of what had occupied my attention. It's better if I don't think too seriously. There is nothing pleasant to think of seriously. At least, not since I came here.

"Pleasant" is not a term commonly used in an insane asylum—at least not by patients. I had been sent here after I had a third vision. I learned after the first two that it was not good to see things that do not exist. But I slipped the last time.

We were preparing supper; my mother, sister, and I. I was bringing a bowl to the table when the ground fell away. I could almost hear the whooshing of the real world passing. Images flashed before my eyes; my father, proudly displaying a new automobile; my sister, Cynthia, all grown up and hanging on the arm of a male escort; a beautiful blond man with strange eyes….

The ground rushed back to meet my feet as I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the smashed mess that used to be the bowl I should have been holding. My mother's face—horrified, disgusted, appalled; Cynthia's no different.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Clean this up," my mother said in a strained voice. I nodded weakly and bent to pick up the larger shards of glass.

That had not been the first offense. I had had public visions before; once in front of close family, once in front of people of society. This was to be the last time.

Father came home that evening at sunset, and the white carriage came for me the next evening. They brought me, sobbing, here to this asylum. They took my clothes, replacing them with a white smock. And then they cut off my long, waist-length black hair and shaved off what remained.

I cried that night, knowing what had happened. While the doctors assured me I was there to be cured, I knew that was not the case. People did not recover when their families sent them away. I was not fit for society, and I could not wreck my parents' chances of rising in it. I was dead in the real world.

Some time later two men came in through the thick door, wrapping my arms around myself in a white jacket, and brought me down a long, white corridor to a large room. The gas lamps that lined the hall cast light that danced sinisterly along the walls. The men sat me down on a gurney in the room and stepped back towards the door. I stared at the doctor, my red, puffy eyes pleading.

"So, Alice," he said, looking at the chart in his hands. I was too distressed to notice his use of my middle name. "My name is Dr. Chambers," he glanced up at me, a small polite smile painted on his face. "I hear that you have been having visions," he continued disapprovingly as his smile turned to a falsely concerned frown. "And we all know that that is not a good thing. Now," he put the chart aside. "Your treatment will be shock therapy." I didn't know what that was, but it did not sound very pleasant. I looked at him in confusion and fear. "Now Alice," he said condescendingly, sensing my reluctance. "You want to get better, don't you?" I noticed how he did not say that it would be pain free. No "It's alright, everything will be okay," just "you want to get better," said almost icily.

"Strap her in," he ordered the two men by the door. It was then that I noticed the cuffs on the sides of the gurney I sat on. The two men came forward, unlocking them. One strapped my ankles in as the other unwrapped the jacket and strapped in my wrists, ignoring my struggles. I noticed that he wore darkened spectacles, and I could not see his eyes. He was also quite handsome, I thought. That used to be something I cared about. The men were both wearing gloves, as if I were contagious. The one with the glasses held my head in place as Dr. Chambers attached something sticky to my temples. I've never seen what it is, but I assume it is something like wires. My breathing became quick. One of the men placed a rubber block in my mouth, and then Dr. Chambers moved to a machine behind me and pulled a lever.

I had no more control over my body. Electricity ran through me, sending me into convulsions. I screamed through the block, fresh tears streaming down my cheeks, struggling fruitlessly against the bindings. It is a good thing I was weak; my bones might have broken if I was stronger.

Finally it stopped, and I was still, my breathing labored. I started sobbing when they unlocked my wrists and ankles.

"With a few more of those," Dr. Chambers started, "you'll be fit for society in no time." I shuddered at "a few more of those," and knew it wasn't true anyway.

---

The second time was worse, because I knew what was going to happen. I tried harder to resist the men, but they were both so strong, especially the one with spectacles. I still haven't seen his eyes. I used to wonder why he wore them. He couldn't be blind—he was clearly able to see. Although he was incredibly strong—inhumanly strong it sometimes seemed—he was also very gentle. But his face never portrayed any emotion; it was like stone. The other man mostly looked disgusted.

After a while I stopped caring about the men, and soon stopped thinking about them altogether. At least, I can't remember thinking about them. But every day they come into my room, take me to the shock room, and I wake up back in my little white room with no memory of the shocks.

That is how I sit now, just waking from a confused stupor. I wonder distantly if I ever eat. I assume I must, since I'm not hungry. Maybe I'm just numb. Maybe I should pinch myself to be sure…but my arm doesn't feel like moving.

My hair has grown a little, but I am past feeling happy. There is no point in looking good if the only people to ever see me again will be the two men and Dr. Chambers.

Suddenly I'm not in the little white room anymore. Immediately woken from my thoughts, I can see the picture of a forest and a man. The man is frozen in the motion of walking through the forest, searching for something. He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen—real or not. He has golden hair on a beautifully articulated, pale face. But that is not why I find him beautiful. I have an overwhelming urge to run forward and guide that man to where or what he is looking for. The image changes and his eyes are at mine, and the shocking blood-red irises seem almost helpless—pleading. I feel no fear at the color of his eyes, only a longing to ease the helplessness. I run towards him, and the vision disappears. I run against the softened wall, pushing against it, banging on it—trying to get past it to find the man.

The door opens, and the same two men come in. "Alice," the spectacled man says in a soothing voice. He comes toward me, arms raised in anticipation of restraint. "Alice, there is no one to find now," Am I speaking? This will not escape the doctor's ears. "It's time to see the doctor." They take me to the shock room, as usual, but I protest lightly for the first time in a while. Dr. Chambers notices.

"Is something wrong, Alice?" He asks.

"I have to find him…" I murmur.

"Now Alice," He chides. "You didn't have another vision, did you?" He asks this as if I am a misbehaving child. I just shake my head as they strap me to the gurney once again.

---

Maybe asylums aren't really for the patients, but their families.

Maybe it is a place to put shameful people.

Maybe it's a place for something people don't want to deal with.

Maybe it really is for crazy people.

Maybe it does help them.

Maybe it just helps them not embarrass their family.

Maybe I'm just paranoid.

Maybe I am crazy….

Maybe there are too many maybes, I think dryly. I am sitting in the white cot, staring at the white walls that I have grown so accustomed to. They are the only things I can completely remember. That may have to do with the fact that I am staring at them at the moment, though. I can no longer remember my parents' faces, or names. I think I had a sibling, maybe plural, but I can't completely remember.

All of a sudden the familiar sound of the thick door opening wakes me from my attempted remembering. I didn't think I was capable of surprise or curiosity, but I feel small sparks of those old emotions as the door opens partly and closes quickly behind the spectacled man. I am surprised because I think that has never happened before; curious because what could he possibly be in here for? I thought it took two people to strap me in… and doesn't the door need to be open? Maybe I'm forgetting more than I thought.

"Alice," the spectacled man says as he crosses the small room to kneel in front of me. None of my half-hearted emotions show on my face. I just stare at him, and he stares into my eyes. I wonder distantly what he finds so interesting.

"I am terribly sorry, Alice," he says. "This is no place for a girl like you. I have seen what it has done to you—the dead look on your face when I bring you back, and that same look quickly becoming permanent." I can't understand why he is saying all of this. I don't even remember seeing him all the time…but that is understandable, I think.

"I can't…" he starts, a torn look on his face. He leans forward, extending an arm to ever-so-gently stroke my cheek with a freezing hand. But before I have time to wonder about the feel of his skin, my vision blacks out and a forest takes its place. In the middle of the picture, a man stares at me; a beautiful man with blond hair and pale skin. I stare into his eyes, the shock of red irises, darkening until black at the pupil, is deadened by the overwhelming anguish that overcomes me as I see the distress in his eyes. I need to help him. The irrational feeling that I am the only one who can help this stranger is devastating, and entirely ridiculous. The spectacled man comes back into view, anxiously saying my name and shaking me slightly. All of a sudden I am completely aware of a gaping hole in my chest. Something inside me knows that it has always been there, except for when I saw him. I am almost panting. I need to find him. I try to stand, struggling futilely against the spectacled man's hold on me.

"Alice, Alice what happened?" he asks in a professionally soothing voice. I stare frantically at his dark spectacles. I can't stay here—he needs me. Whoever he is, I am the only one who can help him. I need to get out.

"I need to get out," I rasp. I must not have spoken in a while—it almost hurts to get the words out. But not as much as the sorrow of his eyes.

"What did you see?" he asks, scrunching his brow. I shake my head, and realization hits. Hopeless depression dawns as I realize that I can never do anything. The man will go on, forever searching for the one thing he will never find and I can never give to him.

I start to cry, and the spectacled man brings my head to his chest, stroking the back of my hair, making shushing noises and rocking me slightly back and forth.

We continue like this for a while until I finally start to settle down. He pushes me back gently so he can look at me.

"There now Alice," he starts. "There is nothing to worry about. I will not let anything harm you," he promises, and something passes on his face that I can't make sense of. I just stare at him, my wet, puffy eyes hopeless.

"Now," he continues in a lighter tone. "What can we do to take your mind off things, hmm?" I keep staring. "My name is Thomas," he says, thinking he has answered some vital question of my life. Or maybe he is just being polite.

"A new man is coming," he continues. "He will be taking Brian's place for a while," a strange look crosses his face, almost worried. "Brian was the other man who helped me…bring you to the doctor." He looks sorry about it. "The new man's name is James, I believe," he continues, trying to make lighter conversation. For some reason he seems to think that names are a light subject. He still has a slightly worried expression on his face, but I don't care enough to think about it.

As I gaze at his blackened spectacles, something occurs to me.

"Let me see your eyes," I half-whisper. My voice is still weak and sore now after my sobs.

A serious look crosses Thomas's face. "You do not want to see my eyes, Alice," he says, his tone solemn.

"But you're not blind," I protest, shaking my head slightly.

"No, I am not," he agrees, sighing. He looks into my eyes, contemplating. He sighs and says in an off-hand voice, "Well, you will forget soon enough." I don't have time to wonder at that statement, because he removes his hands from where they rest on the sides of my arms and slowly reaches up to remove his spectacles. I gasp as I see his eyes—bright red around the edges, darkening to black at the pupil.

They are the same color as the man's from my vision.

"What are you?" I breathe. Whatever Thomas is, it is what the man is. He can help me find him! Hope flares inside me.

A grim look comes over Thomas. "That I cannot tell you, Alice, for some things are hard to forget. This may have been wrong…" he says in an off-hand voice.

No, he can't do this. He is my only hope, and he isn't going to help.

"No," I plead in a strangled whisper. "Please, I need your help!" The little voice I am using brakes on the last word. I struggle to grab hold of his shirt as Thomas replaces his spectacles and removes my hands from his chest. I start to sob again as he wordlessly opens the door and quietly sneaks out into the bright corridor.

He could have helped me, but wouldn't. Now I will go on, stuck in this place, completely forgotten.

Forgotten.

I am wracked with sobs as I realize that, with the next trip to the gurney, I will probably forget that man from my vision. But can I really forget that feeling? The hole that not seeing him, not being with him has caused? That face, those eyes?

Have I already?

I sob and wail harder than I can remember ever doing before. I will forget him, as I am quickly forgetting my family. Soon I will remember nothing at all, not my name, where I am, what I am….

Now the only thing I can remember is the blank walls that surround me on all sides, closing in on me. I verge on hyperventilation as I scramble to remember something, anything…but all I can come up with is the feeling that there is something I must remember. Something I had just been thinking about. I had not been in a half-asleep dream state, I somehow know that. So I should be able to remember, I hadn't been—no, the spectacled man did not just come in with the other man to take me to the doctor…or did he? Did I just come back from the shocks? Is this what I am usually like afterwards? I can't remember.

I cannot remember, but there is something in my mind screaming to be remembered.

---

I am curled up in a ball on the floor, staring hopelessly at the ground. I don't bother to lie on the cot. I hear the door open, and a long rectangle of light blinds me before a shadow blocks it out and the door closes behind it. As I look up wearily to the spectacled man, a strong sense of déjà vu washes over me. I sit up quickly, trying to chase it down, but as I follow it the sense disappears, and I wonder if I had actually felt it at all.

"Alice," the spectacled man says in a quiet rush. "Alice, it is time to go."